Gotham at Night
by Checkerboards
Summary: You haven't heard the real story until you've heard it from the sources themselves. Chapter 11: Scarecrow
1. Poison Ivy

A haze of pink obscured the grey of the sky as the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon. The citizens of Gotham scurried home, latching their doors tight against the intrusion of the night as a full moon began to gracefully ascend skyward.

It hung like a glimmering diamond over the city, its pale white light making everything glow with a faint luminescence. The wind blew through the streets, stirring up papers and rattling them against the walls as it swept on.

Night draped itself softly over Gotham.

* * *

Harvey Dent. Two-Face. Little jumped-up nobody. 

I sit in my chair, patting the leaves of my favorite rose. It almost killed him, you know, back when he was the D.A.

_I_ almost killed him.

Those were the days.

Tonight I plan on going for a little stroll in the parks of Gotham. Nothing much, just a little reminder to the plants that Momma was still here and still loved them.

I pack my bag carefully. Mesh sections separate my babies from one another, the vines from the flytraps, the nettles from the poison ivy. Since I'm traveling through the parks, I also include a few decorative plants that I've raised specially with certain…properties, shall we say.

I leave the greenhouse and walk quietly through the night, passing through the first few minor parks without incident. I love walking through the parks at night. It's the only time when the plants and I can truly be alone together.

I curl up in the branches of a large maple tree and survey the city streets outside Robinson Park. The few trees that were planted in the sidewalks were shredded and broken, painted with graffiti and thoroughly desecrated. I climb out onto the branch and leap down onto the street to comfort them.

As I cross to them, an oncoming car dares to honk at me. I whip a vine out of my bag and hurl it toward the vehicle. It sends shoots out to whip around the tires, rendering the car completely immobile within a tiny forest of greenery in minutes.

Gunfire blasts through the windshield. Figures emerge from the darkness within the car as more vehicles skid to a halt behind them. One of the figures, fists clenched at his sides, is coming for me. As he gets closer, I recognize the little rat as Two-Face.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to look before you cross the street?" he snarls at me.

I give his bifurcated face a frosty look. "Didn't yours ever teach you that honking your horn at pedestrians is a vulgar exercise?"

"Would you rather have had us run you over? We would have been happy to oblige."

"Wouldn't you have had to flip for it?" I say, rather nastily.

He narrows his eyes and raises a fist. Suddenly he draws back and digs into his pocket, bringing out the coin. It flies into the air.

Point proven, I'd say.

The Harvey side of his face cracks open with the most evil grin I've ever seen on it, and he pulls a gun out. He doesn't aim it at me, though. He points his gun at the tree on the roadside and he fires every shot he has right into the trunk.

Oh, I'm angry now. I dig both hands into my bag and I'm screaming "Murderer!" at him, and I let fly with fistfuls of angry little plants.

He's laughing at me when the poison ivy hits him in the face. The idiot can't tell one plant from another and he sees the thin little plant as no threat. That laughter stops pretty quickly when the nettles start growing under his collar. The vines that tie his hands to his feet make him contort into a little whimpering ball on the ground.

I stand over him and I laugh until tears are running down my face. I put my bare foot on his shoulder and I roll him over (carefully, so I don't hurt my babies). I make a kissy face at him. "Aw, did big bad Two-Face get a boo-boo?"

He snarls at me from within his cocoon. I don't believe it, but he actually attempts to flip the coin. It hits me in the leg and rolls to a stop near his chin…scratched side up.

Somehow he brings his feet up to catch me from behind, and I stagger off balance for just a moment. He yells "Get her, boys!" and a horde of men with canisters strapped to their backs come piling out of several vans. They race toward me.

I run back to the park. I climb up the short wall as fast as I can and stand on top of it, gesturing dramatically at Two-Face and his men. "Come on, babies!" I rip into my bag again, sending writhing plants in tangles over those wretched men.

The plants from the park want to help too, and I allow them. They pour over the wall like a living waterfall, searching out the men in white and black and capturing them fast.

This was the most fun I'd had in weeks. The men managed to cut Harvey loose, and he now directed his side of the action from behind a parked car. I move to a more comfortable perch on a branch of the maple tree, where I can see the street better so I can guide my plants around the streams of herbicide pouring out of the canisters. I was just about to send my babies out to sneak up on Harvey when a more irritating little rodent decided to show up and ruin my night completely.

When I felt the rope around my ankle, I thought it was a vine coming to say hello. They do that sometimes, especially when there's a lot of activity going on. They never drag me out of the tree like this one did though! When I land on the ground, I turn my head angrily to see Batman and Robin standing there. I spit out a leaf and glare at them, and I'm just about to inform them of what they've interrupted when Batman _ties me up_ and leaves me with Robin! Really. A pair of cuffs would have been _so_ much better…especially since my babies could have broken them apart for me.

I hear Batman yelling to Robin to bring me along and give me to the police, that he needs help with Harvey and his little playmates. Robin slings me over his shoulder and I am treated to a view of his backside as he runs through the park. He has a run in his tights.

He unceremoniously sets me down in front of a police van and bounds away after Harvey. I suppose it's back to Arkham for another few weeks.

(_to be continued)_


	2. Commissioner Gordon

We arrived on the scene about five minutes after Batman showed up. For some reason, the Gotham citizens didn't realize that Ivy and Harvey were having a fight on their doorstep. That, or they didn't want to be held responsible for breaking it up.

I notice there's not much plant life on the scene for one of Ivy's appearances. Apparently she hadn't been planning on this little excursion, which was more than we could have hoped for.

As I examine one of the plants (with gloves on) I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I look up and I see something in the shadowy alley coming down on a rope, barely illuminated by the flashing lights from a nearby police car. Now, I've worked in this city long enough to recognize a Bat-style vigilante when I see one. I know that Batman and Robin have already started on their way to the Janus, which means it has to be Batgirl.

I make my way over, pretending to wander purposefully from plant to plant sprouting from the cracked asphalt. I have to be secretive about it because some folks have problems with cops working with vigilantes. I say, if Batman wants to help take care of the rogues, he's more than welcome.

I stand with my back to the alley. Batman doesn't like to be watched. Maybe Batgirl won't like it either.

"Batgirl, isn't it?" I ask.

There's silence from the alley. I figure I've got the wrong vigilante. Maybe I've insulted Batman. Maybe it was Robin. Maybe it wasn't either of them at all, but one of the rogues, playing games. I'm breathing heavily.

Maybe I'm about to die.

"Yes," comes the response. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"The Janus Theatre. Two-Face is hiding there." I listen to her as she fires off her rope and swings away. I can tell she's new at this. She hasn't got the hang of leaving silently like the other two.

I head back to the boundary of yellow tape cutting off a neat square of the street. We've got a lot of clean-up to do, and someone's got to take a very angry ex-botanist back to Arkham.

(_to be continued)_


	3. Batgirl

I'm having ice cream at home while I read a book.

Before you go thinking I'm all girly, it's a book on computer science, and the ice cream melted about two hours ago. I got too involved with the theories behind coding and virus transmission and I completely lost track of the time.

I get up to stretch. I've been curled in one position for hours, poring over my textbooks, and my muscles are complaining. I turn to the wall and do a slow backbend. My hair falls past my eyes, revealing the window and the night sky. The moons look pretty.

Moons? I twist up from my backbend too quickly and pull a muscle in my side. Wincing, I turn to the window.

The second moon is the Bat-signal, shining bright against the clouds. I kick off my slippers as I dive for my closet. I pull out the costume and struggle into it, hoping for time, hoping for a chance.

Yellow boots. It's hard to find yellow boots, let alone keep them hidden. I slip them on and leap out of my window, swinging my way through the night sky. My cape snaps sharply in the wind. This…this is the part of the job that I love. I'm on my way to help. I'm helping. I am doing something good.

I have a tiny radio with one little earpiece shoved under the mask tuned to Gotham's news radio station. It informs me that Ivy and Two-Face have had a major quarrel downtown. Ivy's down. Two-Face is loose. I head to the scene.

Dad's there. I lower myself on a rope, being careful to stay in the shadows.

He's yelling to his men, telling them to finish cleaning up here. He looks in my direction and I panic, I skitter backward into the shadows. I'm breathing heavily. He can't know who I am.

He's walking toward my alley, but he acts like he's not walking to me. Maybe he's not. Maybe he's…no, no he's at the mouth of my alley. I stop breathing.

His back is to me. "Batgirl, isn't it?" he asks pleasantly.

I can't say anything. He'll recognize me. Finally, I mutter "Yes," as gutturally as I can.

"The Janus Theatre. Two-Face is hiding there."

I don't waste any more time. I send a rope up into the darkness and kick off from the ground. I may be new at this, but I'm learning. I stumble on the slick angled roof of the bank and slide down the shining surface until one foot hangs dangerously off of the edge. I manage to catch hold of a drainage pipe sticking out of the roof. I hold as tight as I can to it until I calm down from the fall.

I make my way to the Janus and stand hesitantly in front of the glass door, squinting to see inside. There's a fight going on. I psych myself up and slam my foot into the glass. It crumples and falls to the ground in one piece with cracks all through it. Safety glass. I leap through the empty doorframe and kick the first man I see in the kidneys. (Thankfully, it's one of Two-Face's boys.)

There are so many men around me, all trying to knock me out. I kick one in the ribs and he goes down. I sense someone behind me and I raise my arm, ready to elbow him in the face.

There's a loud cracking noise, and suddenly there's a searing pain in my leg. I'm down on the ground with a bullet in my leg. It's what my dad talked about sometimes at night, what happened to one of his friends in the force.

I look up to see Two-Face pointing both guns in my direction, but his men close in around me and block my line of sight. There's one man crumpled on the ground in front of me, his white shirt starting to stain with blood.

One man's reaching down for me, but I manage to kick him in the throat with my good leg and he's knocked back, gasping for air. I pick up a piece of broken wood and lash out at the man behind me, the one who's trying to drop a crate of god-knows-what on my head. The end of my makeshift club jabs him in the groin and he goes down in a heap on the floor. The crate crashes down on top of his arched back. He manages to deflect it onto the tiles next to him with his shoulder blades, but as it falls a stray corner catches him behind the ear and he's down for the count.

There's one man and me. He circles in front of me, circles behind me. I'm holding on to the wood with one hand, supporting myself with the other. The blood from my leg is pooling on the floor. He darts up to my left to grab me and I slam the board between his feet, tripping him and sending him sprawling into the floor. I hit the wood hard against his head and knock him out.

My heart is pounding fast. The adrenaline from the fight is going to wear off soon, and my leg's going to really hurt.

I take a second to steel myself and look closer at my wound.

He _shot_ my _boot_!

That _bastard_!

I look up from my leg to try and find Two-Face. He's running out the back door, and I yell "Batman!" He hears, sees me pointing, and kicks the two remaining henchmen in their respective heads with one jump-kick before running after him as fast as he can.

Robin's still fighting, but…I can't…the room's spinning…I…

(_to be continued)_


	4. Robin

I knew it would be a bad night when there was a run in my tights.

Oh, laugh it up. My friends would, if they knew. If they knew I spent my nights running around in a pair of bright green tights, they'd be laughing for weeks.

Of course, if they knew the tights went with a cape, it might change their minds a little.

Anyway, the night's becoming a total disaster. We heard about Two-Face and Ivy's little tiff courtesy of the police radio band when we were on patrol across town, and naturally tonight we were _sans_ Batmobile. It's not like the Caped Crusaders can hitch a cab, y'know?

So we get there, and it's a real mess. Ivy's got the street covered in plants _again_, and Two-Face has got all these guys in white and black running around spraying herbicide everywhere. But duty calls, and we jump right in…literally…and start whaling away on Two-Face's boys.

Now, the herbicide bath was my fault, I admit that. I mean, I should have been paying attention to what the guys in black were doing while the guys in white were kicking my head in. I'm lucky that Batman was around to haul me out, hose me down, hand me an antidote, round up Ivy, and save the whales.

We tracked Two-Face back to the Janus and were in the process of taking out the rest of his gang (minus the herbicide this time) when the door bursts open and Batgirl comes in.

Batgirl. She's only just started showing up whenever the Bat-signal comes onIt's tough to live this life, and I don't know how long she's going to be able to cut it, especially since I don't know who's behind that mask. I kick a black-shirt in the head and he goes down. I'm thinking to myself that I'd better work my way over to Batgirl because I don't know how good she is, and I don't know if she can handle this-

She sends her bright yellow boot heel into the ribcage of a black-shirt. He folds to the floor like a broken accordion. A white-shirt has me by the arm and I kick him once, twice, still keeping an eye on Batgirl.

She goes down to the tune of a loud cracking noise, but no one's touched her, and I turn my glare to Two-Face who has both freshly-fired guns aimed in her direction. Regardless of whether she deserves the costume, she doesn't deserve that.

Now his guns are aimed at me.

I backflip into the air. When I land, his hands are empty. He grimaces and runs at me, arms outstretched like he's going to give me a big hug. I backspring away, ending up on a ticket counter. A black-shirt from behind drags me down by the cape and a group of his pals take turns trying to put me down. I fight my way free of the knot of men around me and find myself totally alone in the room, except for Batgirl.

I hesitate, looking for Batman, then run to her side. Alfred's pulled bullets out of Batman before. Surely he wouldn't mind adding a Batgirl to his repertoire.

(_to be continued_)


	5. TwoFace

I'm hiding in the Janus Theatre.

_We're_ hiding in the Janus Theatre.

We thought it was only cats that followed you home. Apparently bats follow you home too. We wonder idly if hats will continue the trend, then curse the distraction as Robin kicks his way past another one of our henchmen. A black-shirt.

We flip the coin. Good side up.

Batman's cornered by at least five of our guys, but he pulls some kind of martial arts move and floors a white-shirt.

We flip the coin. Good side up.

Batgirl crashes in through the glass doors and doesn't even bother_ trying_ to open them like a normal person. They do have handles, and we don't think we locked them. Did we?

Damn it. She got a black-shirt.

We flip the coin. Bad side up.

We pull our guns out of our holsters and aim them carefully at the girl. We drop her with a shot to the leg. A white-shirt gets in the way of our shot and ends up on the floor.

Robin's pissed at us now, but we're starting to get a little angry ourselves since he's dropped at least six of our boys. We've got both guns pointed at his head and they're clear shots, too. We're just about to pull the triggers when a batarang rips them right out of our hands and sends them across the floor.

We're sure we'll pay for trying to kill Batman's protogés, but at the moment we're more concerned with the fact that the Bat's just scratched our good gun. We grunt out our frustration and attempt to grab the boy, but it's like trying to catch a greased eel. He helps Batman take out all of our remaining henchmen.

We, meanwhile, have taken to our heels. We have flown the coop.

We ran away, okay? We don't like running, but we know when a situation is beyond hope. We did, after all, start out as a lawyer.

As we run through the cold night air, fighting internally about which alley to duck into, we think we hear someone above us. We flip ourselves into reverse, figuring that if they're swinging from a rope it will buy us a few seconds, and kick into the nearest alley.

We stop outside a door and flip the coin. Bad side up.

We break into the empty factory and start up the machinery. It's damn loud, but we know Batman's going to find us anyway. He always does. We arm ourselves with a heavy metal lever, yanked out of a nearby machine, and wait.

Batman bursts in through the skylight in the roof. We have to wonder why they bothered installing a skylight in this dump as the glass showers down around us. As Batman thumps down onto the top of the control panel next to us, we lash out with the lever and catch his ankle. He stumbles and goes down into a heap on the conveyor belt at our feet. Before he can get back to his feet we shove the lever into his chin, uppercut style, and he's down for the count.

We stand over Batman for a second, confused, and watch him roll away on the belt. We walk up to him on the belt and nudge him with the lever. He bonelessly rolls with the force of the push.

We've beaten Batman.

Trembling, we take out the coin. We only flipped to see if we should fight him before. A decision of this magnitude had to be flipped for again.

The shining silver coin flies into the air, flashing in the moonlight, and for a moment we think the coin is the moon, turning scarred and silent in the nighttime air.

The coin lands in our right hand. We shiver in the cold as our fingers part and we see the silver circle in our palm.

_(to be continued)  
_


	6. Catwoman

I step out onto my balcony and arch my back, raising my arms and curving my fingers into claws. I stretch down to my ankles, letting my fingertips scratch lightly across the concrete, and roll myself back up to a standing position as I uncurl the bullwhip from around my waist. I give it a sharp snap, snipping one leaf off a nearby tree, and curl it back up.

The whip winds around a protrusion of stone above my window, and I swing myself neatly onto the fire escape. I land lightly and silently scale the stairs. I'm on my way to the penthouse in seconds.

My whip snaps out and curls lovingly around a flagpole, and for a moment I'm swinging through the air above the street. My toes point to the sky and I do a flip as my whip unfurls and allows me to fly up to the roof. I land silently on the rooftop, toes first, fingertips of the left hand down for balance with my whip hand aiming for a new target.

I swing from building to building, leaping when I can, using my whip when I can't. Finally I'm standing on the roof of my target, the Azalea Suites. I kick quietly into a somersault over the edge of the roof and land on the railing of the balcony.

Sliding glass doors. I reach out and scratch a hole in the glass easily with my right hand, catching the disc of falling glass with my left. I let myself in, padding silently across the floor, keeping a mental eye on the time.

The self-styled Duchess keeps her jewels in glass cases. I relieve her of the worrisome care of several diamond necklaces before I come across an unexpected prize. A small pair of canary diamonds, set as earrings, are winking at me from a square of black velvet. A canary diamond necklace matches the set, with a bracelet to sweeten the deal. I perform the quickest snatch and grab I've ever accomplished and slip out the door with a pocket full of shiny things.

I pause when I climb to the rooftop, scanning the shadows for a black cape. He's not there. I almost walk to the shadows and look for him…but I catch myself and send my whip flying out into the darkness, curling myself into a ball to fling along the rooftops.

I traverse the city alone, the stolen diamonds jingling against one another as I twist myself through the air. I arrive at my own rooftop bereft of company. I leap down to my balcony, catching myself at the last minute, and let myself in.

I do not lock the door behind me.

I retire to my bedroom and spread the diamonds out on my bed to examine them, curling up around them and arranging them so that the moonlight flashes out of them at just the right angle. The canary diamonds pool together to form their own dazzling pool of golden light.

It's strange, but they don't look as appealing as they used to look.


	7. Harley Quinn

It was a big night for me. The heist was planned for midnight at the First Bank of Gotham. A midnight heist means that I have to be up at six A.M. to get everything just right.

First, breakfast for Mr. J (and a little something for the boys). French toast cut in rounds and arcs to make big smiling faces on his plate, bacon and eggs, cereal (Alpha-Bits with only the H's and A's still in them) and any kind of juice or milk or coffee he'd want. The boys get bagels and lox, and coffee.

Of course, he sleeps in, so the breakfast goes to the hyenas. They enjoy it, in fact Lou makes himself sick on the french toast. I skip breakfast in order to get the costumes ready.

Oh, the costumes, the costumes! Mr. J.'s suits all have tears in them, big tears from Batman, little tears from testing the explosives, scorch marks, bloodstains, chemical burns, missing buttons. He refuses to wear an imperfect suit on a job. I pull the least damaged one out of the pile and sew a button on here, repair a tear there, remove the bloodstains out of the back and sew up the gashes from the batarang.

My costume was next. Mr. J insists on me being just as well dressed as he is, so I arm myself with needle and thread and tackle the rips and tears in my suit. The ones from Mr. J are the hardest to fix because he fights dirtier. Still, red and black hides bloodstains better than purple. It's easier to pretend like they were never there.

With a smile on my face, I hand out the clown masks to the boys. The boys were in charge of their own outfits, so that was one less worry for me.

Puddin's awake! Morning kisses and hugs, and the morning brush-off. Mr. J. needs his suit, and I proudly hand it over. With it tossed over the back of a chair, he inquires where lunch is.

"Oh, Puddin, I was just-"

A slap to my face. He's not really angry, just a little upset that I forgot. I run to the kitchen to fix something for lunch. Something quick, something fast. Spaghetti and a banana cream pie I made last night. By the time Mr. J's out of the bedroom, fully dressed with a smile on his face, I have lunch on the table for him. The spaghetti goes on his plate.

The pie goes in my face.

I run to the bedroom to get myself cleaned up, slipping into the suit and the hood, swiping on the makeup and attaching the mask. By the time I get back to the kitchen, the spaghetti is gone and there's a tic-tac-toe in tomato sauce on the table.

"Har-LEY!" I skip into the main room to the meeting and perch by Mr. J's feet. He tells the boys the plan for the night. I watch him, trying to memorize every movement, savoring every sentence.

A foot on my back sends me sprawling. I haven't been listening to what he's been saying, only the rhythm of his words, and he knows it. He's looking down at me now with that look in his eye, that same look as the first time he tried to kill me.

I follow my orders and I get the car ready. We're in a balloon van this time. We stole it last week and left the driver dead by the roadside. He had a picture of his family taped to his dashboard. Mr. J won't let me take it down. I guess he likes looking at the bloodstains.

We don't eat dinner that night because Mr. J. doesn't want to. He's nervy, prowling around the place like Cat-lady. He keeps checking and rechecking the supplies, making sure we've got enough explosives, enough guns, enough henchmen. Finally, he laughs and says to get in the van.

I'm driving again, and I have to be careful to drive legal on the way to the heist. It's hard sometimes with Mr. J telling me to go faster and to turn left when the turn's already past. Still, what Puddin' says goes, so I do what I can to keep us under the cop's radar for the little drive.

We pull up to the bank and I step out into the cold night air. The moon shines down on us together as we walk up to the doors. He grins at me and lets me put the bomb down at the doorjamb. After it explodes, he puts his arm around me to hurry me back to the door, and I'm thrilling at his touch.

The bank's got those new silent alarms, and we can rob the place in peace. Rocco's blowing open the safe, and Moe and Lar are standing ready with the loot bags.

Puddin' and I are watching out for silhouettes of capes across that bright white moon.

* * *

My apologies on the long delay between chapters. We now resume our 'whenever-I-feel-like-it' schedule of updating.

-Checkerboards


	8. TwoFace pt 2

Good side up.

We stare disbelievingly at our right hand.

Good side up.

We drag Batman off the conveyor belt seconds before he's ground into mincemeat and onto a pile of machine covers in the corner. We can't see if he's bleeding anywhere or not in the shadows where we put him, so we shrug and leave the factory.

We can't even kick him on the way out.


	9. Joker

Explosions are like dreams, did you know that? Right before they happen, there's this intoxicating rush of potential fizzing through your blood. There are dazzling lights, and thrilling sound, and perfect beauty thumping up into the sky. But after it's over, the world is small and cold again.

Until you blow something else up, that is.

I laugh at my own thoughts as the first bomb goes off, and I feel Harley shivering under my arm. She's so fragile, so delicate.

Sometimes I'd like to rip her head apart just to see what goes on in there.

We run up the steps, through the flames. The boys follow me, and they break into the safe at about the same speed that I can break out of Arkham. We take all the cash we can carry. I crack a joke about millionares with broken backs. One of the boys doesn't laugh quite as fast as he should have. I shoot the sap without a sense of humor and Harley carries his bags.

Now the bags are in the car and Harley's driving us away. I look back and I'm laughing at the bank as it goes up in a wonderful fireball, lighting up the falling snowflakes like confetti.

Then it hits me like Batman didn't. The Bat didn't show.

I'm insulted, I'm enraged, but under it all I'm terrified. I'm not a threat to him anymore, or he's too busy for me. I don't let myself think that someone else may have killed him before I got the chance to do it myself.

I order Harley to stop the car and she argues with me. Sweet kid. My fist tells her that next time I'll be doing more than just asking and she's babbling apologies as she pulls over. I wipe the smeared makeup she left on my glove on her costume as we get out of the van.

Batman's not here, either. I stand on the street corner, listening to the world laughing at me from behind my back. The wind whips a flurry of snowflakes around my face.

"Puddin'?"

I spin around and slam her into the wall. The tip of my nose brushes hers and she shrinks away. She's terrified, I can almost smell it on her. "What?" I snap.

She manages to ask what I want. Why we're here.

I want cotton candy. I want blue and green striped panda bears. I want to fly.

We're here because the world's gone crazy and I can't make it stop.

My eyes snap into focus on her face and I see that she's choking, my hands are around her neck and I'm choking her and I didn't even realize I was doing it. I toss her into the side of a dumpster, laughing at the metallic clang as she slams into it and drops to the ground.

I slip out my switchblade. The echo of the metal as it clicks into place makes my smile stretch wider. Harley whimpers as she opens her eyes to see me there, grinning, shining the moonlight into her eyes with the blade of my knife.

"Wakey wakey," I singsong at her cheerfully. She stands up.

She _always_ stands up. Maybe that's why I knock her down so often.

She tries to smile at me. There's blood running down her face. I stare at it. I'm fascinated. I'm so caught up in it that I only hear the last part of her sentence- "…okay, Puddin'?"

Puddin'.

Do I appear to _anyone_ else on this planet to be a _Puddin'_?

I grab her by one wrist and swing her in a circle around me. She's orbiting me like a moon, tassels flashing in the snow like comets through stars. I let go and she staggers hard into the van. She leaves a smear of red across the cheery yellow slogan of the balloon company.

I grab her arm again and pull her into the street, kicking her black-and-red posterior as hard as I can. I laugh hysterically as I see her rebound off of a lamp post. She takes the hint and walks away.

She'll be back. My Harley always comes back.

Maybe that's why I haven't killed her yet.

I turn back to the boys. Rocco is volunteered to drive home, and we get in the van and take off.

When we get home, I climb into bed and it's only then that I remember.

In all the fuss I had forgotten about Batsy.

I'd have to think of a surprise for him.

Something…funny.

My laughter sets off the hyenas, and the three of us laugh until dawn.

(_to be continued_)

* * *

Wow, it's been two years between updates. I think that's got to be some kind of record. (I blame Mr. Scary Clown Man up there, who pulls all sorts of disturbing stuff out of the back of my brain whenever I try to write him.) 


	10. Batman

Something's hissing angrily at me. My eyes fly open and I jump to my feet, searching the shadows for the noise. I subdue my reflexes just long enough to realize that it's the tiny radio tuned to the police band hissing static into my left ear.

I was chasing Harvey, but Harvey's not here. I look around once more to confirm it before I make my way out of the factory. My ankle is burning with every step I take, but I can't afford to take the time to cater to it. I grit my teeth and immediately regret it as pain thumps through my face.

"…at the First National Bank. Repeat, armed robbery in progress at the First National Bank. Suspect believed to be the Joker-" I can't waste my time going from roof to roof, not now. I break into a limping run, trying to ignore everything but the sensation of movement. The radio cuts out, spitting fragments of words into the static.

The Batmobile's roof slides open as I approach and I leap inside. I don't wait for the roof to finish closing before I take off, screeching around empty street corners and speeding through red lights.

The bank is on fire. I pull myself out of the car and creep around the back, avoiding the attention of the police officers out front. They wouldn't have noticed me anyway, since their attention is focused through their gun sights on the front door. Jim's on the bullhorn directing a handful of his officers as they search for evidence by firelight.

I let myself in through a window that leads down a long, empty hallway and head for the vaults. My fists are clenching on their own as I round the corner.

The vaults are standing wide open, the money inside reducing to nothing more than greasy black ash as fire dances between the stacks of bills. A man in a clown mask is laying on the ground in a puddle of blood. The Joker is nowhere in sight. From the looks of the corpse, they haven't been gone for long.

I step through the flaming front door. One of the younger cops is so surprised to see movement that he accidentally pulls the trigger of his gun. The bullet hits my body armor and drops lifelessly to the ground.

I don't need to say a word. I walk right through the center of the crowd of police officers. Some of them take a step back from the look on my face.

I get in the car and drive away. I don't know where he is, where he's gone to ground this time. I don't know how he planned this without my knowing about it.

I have a good idea of what he plans to do with that money, however. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and whatever sick plan he's got brewing in his head will require a lot of money to pull it off. His plans generally do.

My lungs are still stinging from the herbicide earlier. I want to go out there now-I _need_ to-but I recognize my limitations. Even if I could find him tonight, he might be able to get away from me again simply because I wasn't in top condition.

A grunt of frustration forces itself from my mouth. I hate to do this. I hate to risk Robin on a night like this, a night when I cannot protect him as I should. He could die if I give in to the pain. But others can and will die if I don't stop the Joker. I have to do it.

I turn the wheel to the right and I head for one of the Joker's old lairs. The radio in my cowl works long enough for me to tell Robin to meet me there, then there's a tremendous crackling burst of sound in my ear as it dies.

In silence, snow whipping in swirls around the car, I drive through the thin grey light of dawn. I steer automatically, focusing my attention on my ankle and my jaw, using pain control techniques to numb the pulsing ache emanating from each of them. When I am three blocks from the lair, I park the car and take to the rooftops.

Robin is crouched on the roof of Funny Bones Comedy Club, the Joker's old hideout. As I approach, dropping down from a higher roof next door, the rising sun shines in a perfect halo behind his head.

No. I will not let anything happen to him. I land next to him, ignoring his shocked glance at my battered face. Bruce Wayne may have to take a short vacation until the bruises fade from my jawline. "He's here," Robin says. "How'd you know?"

I didn't. It hurts to move my jaw, so I don't answer. Instead, I narrow my eyes and glare into the alley. A stolen van with a balloon company's logo on it is parked at an uncomfortable angle between two dumpsters. He must have kicked Harley out again. She's the only one of his minions that knows how to parallel park.

We creep across the rooftop, lowering ourselves to the Joker's bedroom window. I can see him now, sprawled on his side, chuckling in his sleep. A silver gun resting atop the blankets gleams at me with the promise of mayhem. Still dreaming, the Joker reaches out to it and clasps it tight.

Robin's got the window unlocked. On the count of three, we burst inside, and the Joker's eyes fly wide as he sees us bearing down on him. The gun in his hands flips like a fish and aims itself directly at Robin's forehead.

_No._

_(to be continued)  
_


	11. Scarecrow

Of all the horrid places in the world to spend the night, the infirmary ward of Arkham Asylum has got to be ranked among the top ten (and believe me, I speak from years of experience with sleeping in horrid places).

The ward is nothing more than a long room crammed with beds, machinery, and more restraints than one would need to secure a full army of miscreants. A good portion of them are wrapped around my own limbs. Logically, there's no need for them. One cannot run when one has a broken leg, particularly when that leg is in traction. And yet the fear of escape - in truth, their fear of _me_ - keeps the leather straps firmly in place. The padlocks on them jingle as I shift position beneath the thin, scratchy blanket.

There are no clocks. Time stretches meaninglessly out, measured by medication and the limited routine of the ward. It could be noon, it could be midnight. I believe it's close to dawn, though it's difficult to tell since there are no windows.

The accommodations, poor as they are, are not the only reason for the general hatred of this room. The inmates of this asylum are known to speak their minds freely as it is. When painkillers and various other medications are thrown into the mix, the ward can become an echo chamber of lunacy.

At the moment, though, things are quiet. The only other inhabitant of the ward is Edward Nygma, who at the moment is muttering nonsense in his sleep. I suppose I could consider myself lucky to merely have a broken leg. One glance at Nygma, swathed in bandages from shoulders to feet, tells me two things: he'd tried to trap the Batman using some kind of fire device, and the Batman had not taken kindly to his efforts. At least his burns are somewhat mild.

"It's _pelican logic_!" he shouts, arms twitching as he tries to raise them triumphantly over his head. His own set of restraints prevents him from moving more than a few inches. The pain from the restraints jerking on his scorched skin knocks him into semi-awareness. "You're zoning," he accuses me, eyes half-open.

"You're sleeping," I inform him.

"No, you're _zoning,_" he repeats urgently. "From the big zone to the little...the little brains..." He pauses, blinking blearily at me in the dim lights. "What was I saying?"

"I have no idea."

"I hate these stupid drugs," he mumbles, glaring daggers at the nurse down the way. "I can't think."

"You'd prefer the pain?" I ask, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," he hisses.

The nurse has heard us talking. She drops her book on the table, pages spread wide to mark her place, and sails down the narrow passageway between the beds toward us. She stops at the foot of my bed, arms folded, glaring down at me. "You're supposed to be sleeping," she chides me.

I've spent most of the day sleeping, thanks to my own go-round with the painkillers, and I'm in no mood to be dropped back into the fuzzy dreamworld that has captured Nygma. I'm about to tell her that I don't need any more sleep when the double doors at the other end of the room slam open.

The first face we see belongs to the Joker. He's bleeding from the nose and the mouth, with lovely purple bruises rising to the surface over most of his face. His arms dangle uselessly at his sides. He is immediately followed by the Batman, who is grasping him by the neck of his pajama jacket and propelling him with a look of distaste toward the nearest bed.

Oh. It's been one of _those_ captures. Periodically the Batman will find out where we spend our nights on the outside. Waking up to a fist in your face is hardly conducive to clear thinking, let alone the presence of mind to fight back. Generally whoever's unlucky enough to be in the bed only ends up with a selection of minor injuries before they're delivered back to Arkham. The Joker must have done something very, very unwise to warrant that many broken bones.

The Bat drops the clown, letting him crash down onto the mattress like a recalcitrant cat.

"'S'matter, Bat-boy?" the Joker wheezes through broken teeth. "No time for foreplay?"

The Batman glares down at him, fists clenching, obviously wanting nothing more than to continue beating the life out of him. The Joker somehow manages to grin insolently at him.

A pair of orderlies enter through the double doors, briefly revealing Robin waiting in the hallway. Unlike the Batman with his swollen jaw and the bleeding and broken Joker, there's not a scratch on him. One of the orderlies is holding an asylum uniform and the other is holding the stack of intake forms full of meaningless questions that they ask us every time we're dragged back here. Do they really think the Joker will _ever _give them a straight answer to questions like "Where are you right now?" and "Who's the president?"

Nygma and I look at each other and sigh. Between the Joker's upcoming interrogation and his inevitable screeches of pain when they get around to setting his broken arms, it's going to be a long and very noisy day.

Not that sharing the ward with the Joker is ever a quiet experience. I'm certainly not looking forward to the next month or so of his constant company.

Perhaps it's possible to run with a broken leg after all...

(_to be continued_)

* * *

_Eddie's 'pelican logic' ramblings were taken from real life. Conversations with sleep-talkers rock, even if I'm not quite sure how standing by the bed translates into 'zoning'. _


End file.
